


Theta (Halfway to Gallifrey excerpt)

by riotcow



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Asphyxiation, F/M, Impact Play, Pregnancy sex, S&M, brief cbt, clara gets her domme on, the doctor bottoms for once
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-15 04:37:20
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,272
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2216088
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/riotcow/pseuds/riotcow
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A lemony chapter that got cut from a novel-length fic when it got reworked. A pregnant, post-Trenzalore Clara is annoyed with the Doctor and turns the tables on him sexually, taunting him with the schoolboy nickname that she remembers from one of her echoes on Gallifrey. This is VERY BDSM-y.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Theta (Halfway to Gallifrey excerpt)

When she woke up, it was dark out.

No, she realized. She was still on the TARDIS. She'd thought that she was awakening back in her own bed, in the little house in London, but she wasn't. She was in her old quarters on board the ship - the room saw little use these days, but she was willing to bet that the Doctor was keeping her on board because he felt safer with her here.

She felt… okay? She was pretty sure that she felt okay. She tried sitting up slowly, testing each limb before trusting it to operate as it was supposed to.

Okay. She was okay. She drew back the covers, found her feet, wrapped a robe around herself. The Doctor wouldn't be far away.

Indeed, the door slid open to reveal the aperture to the console room directly across the corridor. This was certainly not the usual location of Clara's quarters, but she supposed that the Doctor had sweet-talked the TARDIS so that he could continue his research but stay nearby.

The console was covered in a dozen different books, all propped open. The Doctor had a tome in front of him, paging through it and muttering to himself as he absently entered some calculations into the scanner through the console with his free hand.

"That wasn't very nice," Clara said sharply, startling him.

It was unusual to sneak up on him with his superb hearing, unless he was deeply immersed in a project. His head snapped up and he deposited the book that he held onto the console, coming toward her immediately.

"You needed sleep to purge the toxins," he told her, producing his screwdriver and scanning her quickly. He seemed satisfied with whatever it told him, and he tucked it back away again.

"You should have asked," Clara insisted. "You can't just do whatever you want to me."

The Doctor tilted his head at her with an odd look on his face. "Clara, it was what I needed to do to keep you safe. Tom tried to infect you."

She felt Sebastian stirring in response to her irritation. More and more she noticed that, that he responded to her moods. That, occasionally, she was able to discern his.

She took a deep breath, tried to wave the discussion away. "I'm sorry, I'm sure you're right, Doctor. I'm just tired of having everything just, you know,  _happen_  to me. It's getting tedious."

The Doctor took her hands, then reached to tuck a strand of her hair behind her ear, but she pulled away from his touch. He looked hurt, but did not push the matter.

"What about Tom?" she asked, moving away from him to take the jump seat. "Is he okay?"

"I've got him under sedation and restraint down in the med bay," he said, still watching Clara closely. "I'm pretty sure he's actually clear of it now, but I'm not willing to take another chance. Not until we figure out what he was trying to do, and where the Gemmin went."

"The what?" For some reason, Clara could not shake her annoyance with him, even though she knew that he was just trying to keep her safe.

"The Gemmin. Can't find anything reliable confirming their existence, but what we've seen matches the rumors well enough. That's  _got_  to be what it is."

"Okay. What does it want?"

The Doctor was studying her in a way that made her skin crawl lightly. She wondered if it was possible that the thing had made it from Tom to  _him_ , and suppressed a shiver.

"Probably you. Either you, or us. Maybe both. It feeds on psychic residue, producing toxins as a side effects of its feeding cycle. Don't know how it got to Tom. He's not telepathic, but he's obviously been obsessed with you for a long time, and now that Sebastian is brightening, you've become enough of a food source to attract its attention. I think it was trying to get to you. It could feed on you and Sebastian now, or alternatively on you and I when we're - err -"

He stammered over their sex life so rarely now, but Clara was clearly putting him on edge somehow. She figured that he probably just didn't like it whenever she didn't behave as meekly as he wanted. Well, maybe that was his problem more than hers.

Clara cleared her throat. "You thought that Tom was clear of it earlier and you were wrong." She wasn't being very nice about it, but then she hadn't had a very nice day.

"No." He sounded disappointed. "It managed to fool me… it's got some trick up its sleeve that I don't understand. Not that it probably has a sleeve. I can't even tell for sure if it has a  _body_ , though  _something_  was living in Tom's shower."

He spun about, pacing. "If I could figure it out, maybe I could track it. I'd feel a lot better letting Tom go again if we could just confirm where the damn thing had gotten to." His voice climbed at the end in volume as he lost control of his frustration for a moment.

Suddenly, Clara found her attention captured by him. His aggravation. His anger. His fear.

Something about it all - something about  _him_  - was becoming intoxicating to her. Strangely so. Clara found her feet again, gliding toward the Doctor and sliding her arms around his waist from behind.

"Maybe you'd be able to think better if we took a moment to help you clear your head," she suggested in a soft voice, letting her breath ghost over the small hairs at the nape of his neck.

The Doctor froze in the circle of her arms. She deftly released a button and slid her fingers into his shirt to play across his skin, opening herself to the sensation of his reluctant arousal.

"Clara." His voice was sober, and he turned in her arms, placing his hands on her shoulders. He was willing himself not to respond to her, she could feel it.

"C'mon, Doctor, we're in a time machine. We can solve the puzzle and get Tom back home in time for dinner. Nothing wrong with a brief commercial break before we return to our regularly scheduled programming." She was untucking his shirt now, pulling it free of his braces, sliding her hands across the smooth skin of his lower back.

He wasn't quite resisting her, but looked dubious about her intentions. His eyes fluttered shut briefly as she poured her mounting desire into him directly, deliberately snapping shut the feedback loop that caused their attraction to so often flare to life quickly and without warning.

She looked up at him, let her lips part, wet them with her tongue. She saw his breath hitch as his eyes were drawn to her mouth.

"This… isn't the best time…" he muttered, wetting his own lips as he gazed down at her.

"Time is not the boss of you," she reminded him in a whisper, wrapping her fingers through his belt loops, pulling him forward, and closing her mouth over the newly-exposed skin of his clavicle.

She applied light suction, knowing how the sensation drove him mad. He was still refusing to allow her the satisfaction of an erection, but she could feel his resolve giving way beneath her lips as he groaned softly.

"Clara!" he blurted suddenly, pulling away from her. "Really, not now!"

She closed the gap again, fisting her hand in his shirtfront to keep him from pulling away. "Yes, now," she snapped at him irritably. "I drop everything for you whenever you have an itch to scratch, don't I, Doctor? Well, it's your turn." She yanked him forward, could see his eyes widen in surprise at the force she was using, but she managed to get him close enough to cover his mouth with hers, reaching up to tangle her other hand in his thick mop of hair and give a sharp tug.

Evidently she wasn't the only one who caved in the face of that particular dirty trick. He was finally kissing her back, and she thrilled in triumph as they began to struggle for control. His confusion was being pushed aside by his arousal, and she tore open the front of her own blouse and pulled his hand to her breast before moving in close and running her own hand down to find an increasingly-pronounced bulge in his trousers.

"Clara," he groaned into her mouth. "Really, it can't wait?"

Clara gave him a hard shove backward and his hip collided with the console, dislodging several of the books, which fell to the floor with a clatter. He sucked in air at the impact, but she was already on him again, tearing his braces from his shoulders and making short work of his shirt as well.

His hand came back to her breast, thumb flicking across her prominent, puckered nipple. "You can feel how turned on I am already," she breathed against the side of his throat, knowing that talking was the best way to keep his attention even if all else was failing. He was a sucker for some dirty talk, the Doctor. "You can feel how wet I am for you, can't you? I need you now, Doctor. Not later,  _now_."

He made a sound of despair as he tilted his head back for her. Good, this was working. She massaged his erection through his trousers with nimble fingers, squeezing lightly, and could feel his hearts hammering in his chest.

"In fact, it's been a long time since you were the one to give up some control, hasn't it, Time Lord?" She saw his eyes snap open at the way she addressed him, but they were still glazed with lust. She situated herself snugly against him, straddling his thigh, rocking her pelvis hard against his hip so that he could feel it. It was important to keep him off balance so that he didn't try to slow her down again.

She had managed to unzip him now, sliding her hand past his waistband to stroke the soft, velvety skin of his impressive erection, and his eyes unfocused again. She freed him up enough to drag her short nails down his length and felt the surge of intense arousal that accompanied the challenging sensation. His eyes rolled back into his head, which dropped back on his shoulders again.

She had him, she knew it.

"Get on your knees, Doctor," she snapped at him in Gallifreyan.

She rarely attempted his language, hating the way that her human tongue refused to wrap around the syllables. But something had come over her - her self-consciousness abated - and the words came out near-perfectly. She was not surprised when he dropped as if he were a marionette and she had cut his strings… she hiked up her slip and he reached up and tore her panties free of her, leaving angry lines over her hips. Clara squealed in approval of his sudden enthusiasm, turning them both and hitching her bum up onto the edge of the console, burying her fingers in his hair and yanking his face to her body.

He was compliant now, her Doctor, taking a moment to flick at the ring that pierced one of her labia with his clever tongue, warming the metal with his mouth before slowly running his tongue up her slit. Clara spread her legs wide, knowing that she was now so swollen that her lips would part for him on their own.

"Drink," she ordered, again in his language. He lapped at her, then, wildly, finding as much of her juices as possible to consume, licking clean her folds and hollows with his incredible focus. She lay back against the console, knowing by now which levers and switches to avoid and not giving a damn about the rest of them digging into her ribs. She hooked her knees over his shoulders, tugging at his hair to direct his mouth, feeling his mind become more and more unhinged with desire as he worked at her.

"Drink from me, Doctor," she intoned in Gallifreyan, feeling him strain toward every word she spoke. "Please me, worship me, elevate me. Debase yourself for me."

He groaned loudly, plunging his tongue as deep into her body as he could, desperately striving. She knew that he was stroking himself - could feel the sensation through the feedback loop between them.

She shoved him back a bit with her bare foot on his shoulder, and when he looked up at her imploringly - " _Asawa_ ," he whispered in a hungry voice - she sat up and struck him, hard. Her small hand connected with his cheekbone with a loud crack.

His head snapped to the side satisfyingly, his green eyes watering as they instantly darkened. He turned back slowly, finding her gaze again. His expression was stony, but not exactly angry.

"Stop touching yourself," she snapped. "I didn't give you permission." She waited with bated breath to see if it'd been too much.

And felt an incredible surge of lust when, slowly, he lifted both hands in the air to show that he had obeyed her, his eyes locked on hers as he did it.

"Okay." He answered her in English, and she understood that some small part of him was still trying to hold out, trying to understand what was happening.

No good. She was so close, she almost had him. Striking him had been inspired. Really, that was what the good Doctor needed. Something to take his mind off of all that thinking that he did.

She shoved two fingers into his mouth, ungently, pressing back into his throat hard enough to elicit a momentary gag from him before he relaxed himself. God, the feeling of his throat convulsing briefly on her fingers was one of the sexiest things she'd ever felt, and for a moment she regretted that she couldn't fuck him the way that he fucked her.

She felt his wry response to the passing thought and it infuriated her. Evidently he could use a little more violence to keep him focused on his current priorities. Clara felt entirely willing and able to deliver.

"Down," she barked, placing her foot at the base of his throat and shoving him backwards roughly. It would have been a risky move with a human partner, but with his constitution it just made him cough uncomfortably as he collapsed back to the floor.

Clara hopped down off the console, coming over him instantly, and placed her foot over his throat again now that he was lying supine. Most people would have automatically raised their hands to protect themselves in such a vulnerable position, but the Doctor let his hands lay on the floor where they'd fallen as he stared up at her face so far above him. His braces were tangled about his hips, his shirt completely unbuttoned.

"Tell me what you want, Theta," she snarled down at him, gratified at the look of shock on his face as she used the nickname that his friends had known him by on Gallifrey. "Tell me in this language." No more English to protect himself, distance himself. She wanted him to beg in his own tongue.

"I want you, Clara," he answered, in English.

She made a noise of annoyance, shifted a bit of weight onto his throat. "Wrong answer, Theta," she told him.

He swallowed hard; she could feel his Adam's apple shift against the sole of her bare foot. The look on his face was increasingly unnerved, and she could feel his doubt and fear and arousal all swirling about, confusing him.

"I… want -"

She pressed down, hard, and he choked, one hand flying off the floor as if of its own accord, though he managed to restrain himself from grabbing her foot. He'd begun to answer in English again.

" _In Gallifreyan, Time Lord!_ "

He gasped in a huge breath as she eased up on him, and she was gratified to see a trace of real panic in those beautiful green eyes.

"I want you,  _asawa_ ," he repeated, though this time at least in the correct language.

Clara clucked regretfully. "That's vague," she scolded him, and began to shift her weight again.

"No!" he blurted, though happily for him, he stuck to Gallifreyan in his mounting panic. "I'm sorry! I want… I want to come inside of you. I want it desperately."

She smiled down at him encouragingly. "Is that all, Theta? Tell the truth, now." It was surprising, how easily her second language was rolling off her human tongue now, but Clara was much too distracted to pay that much mind at the moment.

The Doctor stared up at her a moment, licking his lips, and she could see the gears turning in his mind. No, no good, he was trying to think again.

Again she began to increase the pressure on his throat, and again he panicked. "I'm sorry! I want… I want you to hurt me, Clara. I want you to hurt me - badly - and then make me beg for permission to come inside of you." He actually looked openly nervous as he blurted it out.

"Ahh." She finally removed her foot from his throat, then stepped across his torso so that she was straddling him, peering down at him thoughtfully. "That's a better answer, darling. But I didn't what a sick boy you could be. You want me to hurt you  _badly_ , do you? Not just a little?"

His eyes were blazing. "I'm a Time Lord, Clara. I hardly feel a little pain."

"True, that," she agreed, then moved again so that one of her bare feet was planted between his legs. With a smile, she swung her foot lightly, impacting with his erection hard enough to make him gasp but not hard enough to risk injuring him.

He groaned loudly now, his fingers scrabbling uselessly against the floor of the console room.

"And does  _that_  hurt, Time Lord?" She knew the answer, but wanted to hear him say it.

His eyes were watering as he blinked up at her. She couldn't believe how exhilarating it was to see the Doctor himself, disheveled and on the floor beneath her feet, crying out for her. "Yes, that hurts," he ground out, clearly struggling to stay still for it.

"And do you want more?"

He screwed his eyes shut, and his voice was small. So very unlike the legendary man who could turn armies around at the mention of his name. "Yes, Clara. Please."

She stepped back then and he exhaled sharply. "Up, Theta. Get your kit off, turn around, and lean over the console. I have plans for you."

He got to his feet slowly, watching her warily, but whatever was going on in his head, he was still obeying her. He stripped off with automatic motions, discarding his clothes in a pile on the floor, while Clara waited, arms crossed, looking impatient.

He took a step toward her imploringly. " _Asawa_... Clara - " he began, but Clara wasn't interested, and she pointed at the console with an arched brow.

And was gratified when, with one last searching look, the Doctor turned and leaned forward over the console.

The Oncoming Storm. The Bringer of Darkness. The Predator of the Daleks. Bent over his own TARDIS console for her, waiting for whatever she felt like doing to him.

She left him there, trotting back across the hall to her room, which the TARDIS had thoughtfully left where it was. She was back in a moment, and pleased to see that the Doctor had not even raised his head from where it rested atop his forearms on the console. Evidently the fight had gone out of him.

Good.

She came up behind him, bumping her satin-covered hips against his bare ones, and put down the belt that she had retrieved on the console, on the side that his head was turned toward. She saw him open his eyes and take in the threat, but other than that there was no reaction. She ran her hands soothingly over the lean expanse of his back, and he exhaled deeply, relaxing beneath the touch of her fingers.

"It's okay, Clara. You know I'm yours. Do what you want," he whispered hoarsely, in Gallifreyan.

"Shh, Theta," she purred. "You talk too much. You think too much. Just relax. I know what I'm doing."

She picked up the belt then and backed up a bit, unrolling its length, doubling it over, and testing it in her hand. Yes. There was no way that an old-fashioned hand-delivered spanking was going to get his attention, not with his tough constitution, but she was pretty sure that he was going to feel this.

Warm up was for tourists and amateurs. Clara drew back and delivered a resounding blow that left a faint red stripe across his lower arse.

He twitched, slightly, but not a sound. Good. She'd been hoping that he was as tough as he pretended to be. Clara changed her stance, finding the best body mechanics for the task at hand, and began whipping him soundly.

She didn't give him more than a second or two between blows, and she built in intensity at a steady rate, putting more and more of her back into it as she continued. The rhythm of it was almost hypnotic, though he remained mostly stoic, with only an occasional jerk or gasp after a particularly hard blow took him by surprise where it landed. After a few moments he was covered in angry weals from the top of his arse down to about mid-thigh, and she could see his breathing had increased as he finally had to begin to work to cope with the blows.

Now they were getting somewhere.

She went back to the top and began delivering a new round of assault over the already-marked skin, and was pleased to see some actual welts begin to rise. He was jerking minutely now with each individual blow, small sounds coming from him with greater frequency.

She paused a moment, coming up to bump her hips into his again, and ran her fingers over some of the more prominent welts. He pushed back, and she raised her hand to her mouth, wet her thumb with her saliva, and slid it into his body.

His groan was loud and he pushed back harder against her. "Yes, thank you, Clara," he stuttered raggedly.

"Tell me, Theta, do you think that I've hurt you enough yet? You asked for it to be bad, you know. I wouldn't want to disappoint you." Her voice was mocking, but she was gently massaging his prostate at the same time.

"I… you have my full attention,  _asawa_ ," he answered softly.

"That's not what I asked," she said sharply, dragging the nails of her free hand over the welts on the back of his thigh, eliciting a sharp gasp. "I want to know if you think you've had enough yet, Time Lord."

She saw him close his eyes again in some sort of resignation. Finally he said, "Only if you're done with me, Clara."

She smiled, though he couldn't see it with her behind him like this. She pulled free of his body, backed up, and lifted the belt again.

"Good answer," she replied, before landing the hardest blow yet.

He jerked, then forced his head back down onto his arms, his breathing labored. Good.

Another, landing right below the first. No time for the pain to begin to abate before the next one landed. She meant to overwhelm him if she could.

A third, and now she heard his soft cries muffled in the crook of his arm.

Again, and again, and again. He was shaking now, his entire body. Not violently, but a noticeable tremble throughout his lanky frame.

Seven. Eight. Nine. Ten.

Clara made the last few count, letting the blows overlap back-to-back. The next-to-last one, she saw him nearly jerk upright before he caught himself and made himself relax again against the console.

Perfect.

One more.

It was as hard as she could make it, and this time he couldn't help it, he jerked out of position before he could catch himself.

She didn't push him back down, just coming up behind him again and sliding her arms around his waist. She brushed against his arse and thighs, knowing that the cool satin of her slip would be simultaneously painful and soothing, as her hands stroked downward from his flat stomach to find his incredibly substantial erection.

"You liked that, Doctor. Quite a bit, I see."

His breathing was evening back out slowly, and his hands were still braced against the console as he worked to regain control. He turned, then, slowly, in the circle of her arms, and Clara allowed it, releasing his erection and looking up at him with a wicked smile.

His expression was soft as he gazed down at her. "I'd like to make love to you now, Clara." His voice was low, still hoarse.

She slid one hand around his hip and felt the warm welts that she'd left on his flesh. He hissed as she squeezed lightly, and she felt his erection twitch against the side of her tummy.

"Take me to my room, Chin-boy," Clara proclaimed. "And don't you dare forget… if you come in me without explicit permission, there will be  _severe_  consequences." Her eyes glittered with delight, and with a growl he lifted her off her feet and carried her out of the console room.


End file.
